


Snow Day

by willowswhiten



Series: Willow's Teen Wolf Fluffy AUs [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Christmas Presents, M/M, Office Party, Secret Santa, Short & Sweet, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:20:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21849556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowswhiten/pseuds/willowswhiten
Summary: I have no idea what corner of my brain decided this vaguely The Office-themed au needed to exist but it does so... Enjoy
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Willow's Teen Wolf Fluffy AUs [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1563865
Comments: 12
Kudos: 169





	Snow Day

Derek Hale was in love, yes, but he wasn’t an idiot.

‘You’re an idiot,’ his sister, Laura, said.

He glared at her. Why was she even here, sitting on his desk and distracting him from important business?

Derek was an important guy. He was CFO of a major non-profit. He had been invited to give a  _ TED Talk _ .

Of course, he hadn’t accepted, because he quite frankly couldn’t think of anything worse.

But still. Stiles had been impressed, when he’d told him about it in the staff room. He’d leaned one hip against the kitchen counter and laughed when Derek said he’d turned it down.

‘That’s such a badass move,’ Stiles had said. ‘Like, I’m too busy making little kids happy, guys, to do you stupid PR-y YouTube bullshit. Right on, man.’

Then he’d smacked Derek on the shoulder and wandered off.

Two people had asked Derek that day why he was smiling.

‘How long has he worked here?’ Laura asked sharply.

‘Eighteen months,’ Derek said, then immediately regretted being so quick off the mark. ‘I think.’

‘And how long have you been in love with him?’

Derek glared at her.

Because the answer was eighteen months, two weeks and a day.

He’d been on Stiles’ interview panel.

‘He’s my employee,’ Derek snapped. 

‘He’s  _ my  _ employee, and as long as you’re both upfront with HR, there’s nothing stopping you dating. Like Jim and-’

‘I swear to god, Laura, if you say  _ Pam… _ ’

‘Jim and  _ Sitara _ . In marketing. You were at their wedding last year, Derek.’ Laura paused. ‘God, you are a romantic loser, aren’t you? Who said anything about Jim and Pam?’

Derek just glared at her. He didn’t feel the need to share that he has always privately thought Stiles was a bit like Jim - a chatty, extroverted kook with a huge heart.

And that he, Derek, was more of a Pam.

Quiet, secretly artistic, and patient with an irritating boss.

Laura, as if she knew he was thinking about her in unflattering terms,  _ bopped _ him on the nose with a candy cane.

‘So how much did you pay for it?’

He frowned at her. ‘For his present?’

‘For his name in the Secret Santa!’

‘I didn’t pay anything. I asked Lydia to figure out who had it. She traded them, then I traded with her, and… I have to cover for her while she’s on honeymoon.’

‘Good instincts. Lydia’s a much better negotiator.’ Laura paused, then pointed at the dog-eared paperback copy of  _ Good Omens _ on Derek’s desk. ‘And how much did you pay for that?’

Derek… didn’t want to answer that. ‘It’s a signed first edition,’ he said, defensively. ‘It’s signed by  _ Terry Pratchett. _ ’

‘You’re such a nerd. So, what’s the plan? You’re going to put it under the tree at the Christmas party tonight and just sort of  _ hope _ that he realises its from you, and it means you love him?’

Derek… hadn’t thought that far ahead. 

Mostly, he just wanted Stiles to be happy.

He also wanted to kiss him, and sleep with him, and marry him, and maybe adopt or maybe hire a surrogate?

He hadn’t decided on that last point.

A knock on the door shook the Hale twins out of their mutual glaring, and Stiles himself waved awkwardly from the threshold.

‘Hey, Hales,’ he said. ‘Derek, do you have a second? I just wanted to run something by you.’

Derek grabbed the book off the desk so fast it made Stiles’ eyebrows raise and Laura roll her eyes. 

He felt the tips of his ears burning.

‘Hey, Stiles,’ Laura said, sickly sweet. ‘I’m not sure I’ve ever asked - are you seeing anyone?’

Stiles looked alarmed. ‘Um, no? But I’m, uh, not super into… women? Sorry?’

She laughed. ‘Oh, honey, don’t worry - you’re not my type, either. Derek, on the other hand-’

‘Laura, don’t you have somewhere to be?’ Derek snapped.

She looked thoughtful. ‘No?’

‘Yes, you do. That very important thing.’

‘Pretty sure I don’t, Der-Bear.’

‘Der-Bear?’ Stiles echoed, visibly startled.

‘Laura, get out,’ Derek concluded.

Laura smirked and hopped off of his desk, smoothing her pencil skirt. She handed Stiles a candy cane.

‘If you’re going to trim his tree,’ she purred at Stiles, ‘make sure to close the door.’

Stiles watched her retreat, his eyebrows up by his hairline. Finally, he shook his head like he was trying to physically clear his thoughts, stepped into the room, and softly closed the door.

Derek took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair. Stiles’ eyes tracked the movement, and Derek realised he must look like a mess - end of month accounting had been wrapped up at lunch, and Derek had been working solidly for a week. His hair was wild, his blazer thrown over his little office sofa, his tie on top of it.

His shirt collar was undone and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.

Sure, Stiles might wear graphic tees and jeans to the office, but he was head of IT, not in accounts. Derek’s suit and tie made him feel in control.

So, obviously, Stiles decided to visit him on a day when he looked like control was a distant memory.

‘Your sister scares the shit out of me,’ Stiles said, conversationally.

‘Me, too,’ Derek managed. He gestured to the seat opposite him.

Stiles ignored it and perched on the edge of Derek’s desk, on the same side as Derek’s chair.

Derek wanted to pull him into his lap.

‘Are you ok, man? I’ve never seen you so…’

Stiles sort of flailed in his general direction.

Derek felt his ears burn and fidgeted with his sleeves. ‘Sorry, it’s been… a rough week.’

‘Don’t apologise. It’s a good look. You just seem tired.’

And that… that was one of the reasons Derek was gone on this man. Stiles was empathetic to the point of ridiculousness. Stiles knew the names and ages of the cleaning staff’s kids. Stiles passed around condolence cards when people lost their pets.

Stiles had, from day one, refused to be intimidated by Derek’s position or his natural quiet, or by what his little sister Cora termed his  _ resting murder face _ .

He’d infiltrated Derek’s life. He’d encouraged him on walks, brought him increasingly ridiculous Starbucks orders in an attempt to find his preference, and generally made himself a part of Derek’s everyday life at work he couldn’t live without.

Stiles was awkward and funny and affectionate.

Derek wanted him so badly he could barely stand to be in the same room with him.

Stiles watched him like he was studying a line of code. He unwrapped his candy cane and hooked one long finger around the curved end, sucking the other into his stupid, perfect mouth.

Derek clenched his fists so hard he thought he might draw blood.

‘You wanted me?’ he managed.

Stiles’ eyes went wide, and he smirked.

Stiles was a huge flirt, with everyone.

When it was directed at Derek, he felt like he was having an aneurysm.

‘Are you going to the party tonight?’

Derek blinked at him. Stiles rolled his eyes.

When he did it, it was much nicer than when Laura did it.

‘Don’t look at me like that, Mr Anti-social, it’s a reasonable question.’

‘Yes. I mean, I was going to.’

Stiles hummed. ‘Me, too, but I don’t like getting all sloppy around my coworkers. Do you wanna bounce after secret santa? We could get a burger or something.’

Derek nodded mutely. Stiles rewarded him by reaching out and smoothing his hair a little, his fingers gentle.

‘I like you like this. You look softer.’

Derek helplessly stared at the column of Stiles’ neck.

He smelled like some kind of herbal aftershave.

‘They say it might snow tonight,’ Stiles continued, blissfully ignorant of Derek’s thudding pulse. ‘Tomorrow’s my last day in the office before Christmas. Wouldn’t it be cool to have a snow day?’

‘Offices don’t have snow days, Stiles,’ Derek murmured.

‘Ok, then, boss-man. A  _ sick day _ .’ Stiles made dramatic air-quotes and grinned. ‘We could have a snowball fight then huddle together for warmth.’

Derek chuckled. ‘I’m  _ sick _ in this scenario, too, am I?’

Stiles grabbed one of Derek’s air-quotes with his own, two fingers each tangled in a weird parody of hand-holding.

‘Obviously. Without you, I’d freeze to death. It’s your duty to keep me safe with all your survival skills.’

Derek rolled his eyes. The Hale Foundation had been established by his mother in the 80s to get inner-city kids out into the wilderness, learning about nature and the environment. They ran camps, kid-friendly survival courses, and helped interested teens get work experience and into forestry and wilderness careers.

Stiles had made it clear on more than one occasion how funny he found it that straight-laced, suited-and-booted Derek was a trained forester and mountaineer who ran exploration courses for kids in the summer.

Stiles held up their joint hands and inspected Derek’s knuckles like they were a puzzle.

‘You know,’ he said, after a long moment, ‘my dad’s working at Christmas.’

Derek didn’t know what to say to that. He just waited for Stiles to speak, but before he could -

Greenberg burst into the office, eyes wild.

‘Stilinski!’ he yelled. Derek watched his gaze narrow in on his and Stiles’ joint hands. ‘Are you in on this, Hale?’

Stiles sighed and dropped Derek’s hand. ‘What is it, Greenberg?’

‘As if you don’t know!’

Greenberg held something aloft. Stiles and Derek dutifully looked at it.

It was a stapler, on a plate, suspended in quivering yellow jell-o.

‘Again, Stilinski? Again?!’

After a wild few minutes of yelling and threats of bodily harm, Derek managed to eject Greenberg from his office, and frog-marched Stiles to the kitchen to begin the process of washing jell-o from a stapler.

It was a process Stiles was familiar with.

‘Are you running out of prank ideas?’ Derek asked, as Stiles scrubbed.

Stiles snorted. ‘Nah, I just…’ he paused. ‘You called me Jim, that one time. Like, from  _ The Office _ .’

‘Oh, god - is this whole prank war my fault?’

‘No! No, I just wanted to… forget it.’ Stiles sighed, his brows furrowed, tongue between his teeth as he rinsed the stupid stapler. ‘I’ll see you tonight, ok? Burgers. Don’t forget.’

Derek managed a smile and headed back to his office to wrap Stiles’ present.

It took him three attempts to get it perfect, then Laura was there, snatching it out of his hands and stuffing it into a santa-sack with the other gifts.

She herded him out and into the conference room, which the party-planning-committee had decorated beautifully.

There was little that their COO, Lydia, couldn’t achieve with hot glue and a $100 budget.

‘Presents!’ Laura yelled at their assembled team. The Foundation only kept a handful of full-time staff, around thirty, so they were all lingering in the room.

Stiles had changed into a pokemon-themed Christmas jumper. When Derek was dragged in, he waved enthusiastically.

‘Stiles!’ Laura shouted. ‘I’ve got a present for Stiles Stilinski!’

Derek shot her a look, but she was on a roll and fully ignoring him, marching through handing out presents to everybody.

Derek kept his eyes on Stiles, even when Laura handed him a boxy present that rattled in transit.

Stiles didn’t touch his own present. He was staring at Derek, his eyes very wide and very dark.

‘Well?’ Laura elbowed Derek in the ribs. ‘Aren’t you going to open your present?’

He shot her a look. ‘I’m waiting for Stiles,’ he hissed.

‘He’s waiting for  _ you _ ,’ she hissed back.

His gaze shot back to Stiles, who smiled awkwardly and pointed at the present, miming ripping the paper off.

Derek flushed and obeyed. Beneath the glittery wrapping was a plain cardboard box.

He opened it to find an old-fashioned teapot in blue ceramic. He lifted it out, and saw it had a parcel tag tied to the handle.

_ To my Pam _ , it read.

Derek felt his heart in his throat. Everyone was laughing about their gifts and it was so  _ loud. _

He ducked outside before he could second-guess it, hurrying into the nearest quiet spot - the copier room.

There, he took a deep breath and opened the lid.

There was, on top, a photo of a very young Stiles with an unfortunate buzz-cut and a huge, shit-eating grin. Beneath that, a receipt for a pumpkin-spice latte, and beneath that, a small plastic soldier with a plastic parachute.

Derek thought this might be what a panic attack felt like.

‘Do you get it?’

Stiles stood by the printer, his unopened present in one hand, his expression unreadable.

Derek looked at him helplessly.

He was certain that if he tried to speak, he would cry. Stiles apparently took this as a sign that he  _ didn’t _ get the reference to his all-time favourite show, because he started to panic-babble.

‘Like in that episode, where Jim’s just so in love with Pam and he wants to tell her so he gets her the teapot full of meaningful things? Like, that’s the first time I bought you your favourite coffee, and it took me nearly a year to figure it out, because I thought you’d like it just black, but you’re actually a basic bitch with a huge sweet tooth.’

Stiles took a breath, at last, and walked to stand directly in front of Derek.

‘And this is for you. You don’t have to read it now, but it’s for you, because it’s been more than a  _ year _ , Der, and apparently I have to spell it out for you.’

He handed him a letter.

Like in the show. A love letter.

Derek was frozen. Stiles watched him for a long moment, then sighed.

‘It’s ok, big guy,’ he murmured. He leant forwards and pressed a dry kiss to Derek’s cheek. ‘Take some time. Adjust. I’ll still be here.’

He left. Derek stood, alone, for… he wasn’t sure how long. He heard songs start and finish in the other room.

After maybe half an hour, he read the letter.

He didn’t realise he was crying until he saw a tear marring the paper on his third re-read. He laughed, then wiped his eyed with his sleeve, then read it again.

‘You  _ asshole _ .

Stiles’ return completely blindsided him. One second he was enjoying one of the happiest moments of his life, the next, the love of his life was calling him an asshole, and flinging himself across the room with outstretched arms.

Stiles grabbed him and  _ kissed  _ him.

He kissed him like it was going out of style. Like tomorrow might never come. Like Derek was air and he was drowning.

He kissed him bruising and deep and hungry and Derek tried, after the initial shock, to reply.

To kiss him back, the way he ought to be kissed.

Derek kissed Stiles with love. With want. With every stupid, sentimental fantasy and every ounce of pleasure he felt at finally -  _ finally _ \- being able to take what he’d wanted for so long.

He kissed him gratefully, worshipfully, and with all the words he didn’t know how to say.

‘You asshole,’ Stiles whispered. ‘How long?’

Derek blinked at him. He had never felt so helpless or off-kilter as he did that day, and he just about managed: ‘what?’

Stiles pulled away just enough to show him the book. The stupid, expensive, sentimental book.

Stiles’ late mother had loved Terry Pratchett. Derek had learnt that a year ago, when Stiles was monologuing about his excitement for the  _ Good Omens _ TV adaptation.

‘You love me,’ Stiles accused. ‘How long?’

Derek wanted to laugh. ‘Since the beginning.’

‘My first day?’

‘Your interview.’

Stiles looked horrified. ‘But… I kept calling you Dennis!’

‘I’d be Dennis for you,’ Derek said, loyally.

‘You love me,’ Stiles repeated, his voice going soft. He cuddled close and wrapped himself around Derek. ‘I love you,’ he told Derek’s neck.

‘You said. In your letter.’

A pause, then: ‘snow day?’

Derek smiled and guided Stiles’ lips to his. When they were both breathless, he answered.

‘Snow day.’


End file.
